Masks of the Ruthless Pretenders
by SeekerOfTheGreatPerhaps
Summary: They're going to wear their masks, like they always have, even if doing so feels like hell itself. How long are they going to be able to keep it up? Or will they break into tiny, jagged, broken fragments of what used to be a promising future? 74th Hunger Games CLATO Please review!
1. Chapter 1

CATO

He watched with horror as she mounted the stage, deceiving everyone watching with her proud, unyielding expression, which she had mastered over the years with him. They had mastered everything, it seemed—from making sure to demonstrate their strengths to securing that no one ever found out they had weaknesses. She was already acing her act, her strategy. Smiling her deep, evil smile that told the population that she was going to send a knife flying into someone's eye as soon as she got the chance, she was already convincing the Capitol not to overlook her. But deep down he knew she was afraid, no matter how trained they were for this. Nobody quite knew her like he did. Nobody else knew that her favorite color was red, her real-life hobby was reading, and her dog was her most prized possession. Nobody loved her like he did.

So before they could ask for volunteers for the boy tribute, he was there, lunging forward, wearing a mask of arrogance. To the casual observer, he was eager to be a part of the bloodbath and bask in all the glory. However, his pounding and his head throbbing, he had no thought but: _he couldn't let her go in there alone._

"Show no weakness," he remembered telling her every time. _He was breaking his own rule, because what choice did he have, when his only weakness was her?_

CLOVE

There had been the initial shock when her name got called out, but it was quickly replaced by all the gears shifting into place inside her, working in a precise clockwork manner, telling her that this was the chance of her lifetime. It was alright; she would win and go home and have everything she wanted.

Deceiving the crowd with her deadly smile. Still smiling. But the grin vanished as soon as _he_ lunged forward to volunteer for the male tribute. Cato.

You can't be doing this, she cried out in her head. But he was, and she couldn't stop him.

It didn't take long for her to understand what was going on. Suddenly, she was in the Training Center with him, and he was telling her, "You and me, we're gonna keep each other safe, no matter what happens," and she was saying, "Let's swear on it." And they swore it on their own lives, sealing the promise.

Well, Clove never knew it would be this hard to live with the fact that they would keep their promise but it wouldn't work out, eventually. Not where they were going. Only one could win.

Her emotions racing, Clove watched as he mounted the stage like it was his sole purpose in life. They shook hands. His was cold as death itself, and she was guessing that the same was true with hers.

_Oh, Cato,_ she thought. _We've come a long way to die._


	2. Chapter 2

CATO

"You shouldn't have volunteered," Clove said; her voice cold. She was pacing around, knife in hand, as she fought to keep her emotions down.

"Why not?" snarled Cato. "So you could steal all the glory? I didn't beat you everyday in training for nothing!" Unlike Clove, he was far from concealing his feelings. Overdoing it was the right word.

"You know full well that I never wanted to do this as much as you do. So cut the crap. You know what I'm talking about." Clove sat down, facing Cato.

"You never wanted this? Clove, we'd been trained for this very thing since we were eleven! _You_ cut the crap. Why does it seem like you're scared now?"

"I'm not scared. All I'm saying is you shouldn't have gone for me. I can take care of myself."

"For you? Why on earth will I volunteer for you?" Cato spat, although that was the very thing he did. He volunteered for Clove, to protect her, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

Clove tried to keep her visage calm, but she couldn't do it. She was hurt. "Have you forgotten?" she said in a loud whisper.

"_What?"_

"We promised to keep each other safe."

"Overdue." Cato said, softly. He remembered the promise. He was still going to keep her safe. But she couldn't let Clove know, because he knew for a fact that if he told her the promise was still valid, she would do the same for him. That couldn't happen. Only one could win. It had to be her.

"Forget that. Because I'm not going to do anything but save myself now," he added, almost inaudibly.

Clove turned to leave, but as she reached the door, she said, "Fine. But you know what?"

Cato remained silent. He could feel his own heart being ripped apart by Clove's reaction to his words.

Clove, her voice bitter and angry -much to the destruction of all of Cato's defenses- said, "We've been here less than three hours and it's like I've never known you." Then she left the room, banging the door shut behind her.

CLOVE

Clove wandered around the tribute train, clutching a knife she stole from the dining area. She had another one hidden in her pocket. Her heart had resumed its usual pace, although just moments ago it had been beating a mad race. Much to her pride's disappointment, she had cried. A single tear fell from her right eye as she slammed the door on Cato. The episode with him had wounded her more than she'd like to admit. And yet she could not bring herself to hate him, for a reason still quite unknown to her. It had been like talking to a whole knew person. His words reverberated in her head as she walked aimlessly around, much to the fright of a Capitol attendant she glared at him as she passed.

What had she been thinking? Why had she assumed that Cato volunteered for him? She wasn't anything special to him, as far as she could notice. But didn't years of friendship count? Or was she merely exaggerating the meaning of that word?

Without any intention to do so, Clove had reached her room. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. Sitting on her bed, she could just make out something on top of the chest of drawers. Curious, she stood up and examined it closely. It was a handwritten note on a ripped piece of paper. It had one word on it: _mask._

Who could it had been from? And what did it mean?

Then, suddenly, she remembered.

Back home, three years ago—she had been fourteen, Cato, fifteen. Their trainer, Alther, had been rambling on about personality projection, how it would intimidate the other tributes if they projected their arrogance just right, how the tributes from their district got away every single time bearing a strong, brutal aura. It helped their chances, Alther had said..

It was a part of the training of the District Two kids. You would become eligible for training at eleven years old, and it would end when you're eighteen, when you were in danger of being reaped for the last time. For those unlucky ones, training would end once they get reaped. Training had three parts: physical – how to tone their body into a strong condition, and how to handle their weapons of choice-mental—how to strategize under all conditions, from mild to extreme- and socio-emotional- mostly about projecting, dealing with people, and not letting your true colors show. It was a rigorous training program. Since it began fifty years ago, twelve kids had died from exhaustion and pressure. Another three died in physical combat exercises. So now, trainees were not allowed to fight one another.

Anyway, old Alther had been discussing this and that. Then the bell rang and the class was out of there. Clove had been intercepted by Cato on her way out, and asked her if they could have lunch together. She'd said yes. Clove knew there wasn't any malice involved. Cato was a good friend. And so they ate, and after, still having an hour to kill, they proceeded to their usual hanging-out spot: under an old tree on top of a small hill in the greener part of the district.

Clove read the book she brought with her, not minding Cato, who had taken to trying to climb the tree without much success. He was too big. After a while, perhaps giving up, Cato settled beside Clove and annoyed the hell out of her by snatching her book away.

"Hey! What was that for?" she had asked.

Chucking the book away, Cato said, "What's the point of going to a fun spot without having any fun?"

"Well, I was having fun until you stole my book away."

"Really? Reading? That's boring," Cato teased.

"That's insulting. Maybe you should try and see for yourself."

"Some other time, maybe. I'd rather talk."

"Talk? Now, that's boring." Clove snapped. And, Cato, talk? Clove thought. If there was one thing Cato was famous for, it was his inability to put up with a conversation. He'd rather choke the person he's talking to.

"Try me." Cato said with unbelievable conviction.

And so they talked: mostly about training and the Hunger Games, and one of their discussions went this way:

"Hey, remember what old Alther said about projection?" Cato asked.

"Yeah, although I'm more interested on how _you_ remembered that."

"I don't always sleep in boring classes, Clove."

"Point taken; so, what's up with Alther's projection lecture?"

"I thought some since he said that, and come to think of it, he's right." Cato started. "It's all about projection. I mean, look at Bathilda. She wasn't anything she had the country believe in the Games. She's even shy here; but in the Capitol, she was all they were afraid of. And she won."

"So?"

"So, I realized that what really gives us our edge in the Games is our attitude. We couldn't make them steer clear from us if we could kill them with a flick of a finger but couldn't show it off."

"Okay, Cates, but what's the point? I don't mean to be rude, but why are we even talking about this?"

"That attitude, or personality is like a mask. Wear it, everybody fears you. Don't, you're a loser. But what's cool is we can wear it on or off, and what matters is who gets to see us when we're wearing it, and

_Masks_. It finally dawned on Clove. "Or who gets to see us in both," she said.

"And that person will be the only one to tell the difference between the two." Cato said.

"And he/she will be the only person the real us."

"That piece of enlightenment is very enlightening indeed," Clove said with an attempt at a laugh.

But Cato was serious. "I know," he said.

"What are we going to do with it?" Clove asked.

"What?"

"I mean, how are we gonna apply what you just learned under this great tree of knowledge?"'

"Oh, that. First, we make our masks. Then, we practice."

They had spent their remaining fifteen minutes walking back to their training place while discussing the entirety of their 'masks' . Just before they reached the gate, they had it figured out.

Clove was a cruel, merciless knife-thrower. She was nobody's friend. She was smart, deceptive, and fond of other people's pain. She was full of pride, and you'd have to kill her to get through. Clove was younger than most people in her level of training, but she never let that stop her from bullying the others. She had an insatiable hunger for seeing everyone bend to her will. She radiated the kind of aura that made the others fear her from five miles away.

Cato, on the other hand, was the ultimate killing machine. Unlike everyone else, he had no reluctance at all when it came to hurting others for his own gain. He was unbelievably self-centered. All that mattered to him was he, and he would do anything to keep himself the way he wanted it to. He had consistently been the number one trainee in the highest level of training. He got what he wanted. He was the top heartbreaker in all of District 2. He could make all the girls chase after him without stopping to check if they still had air in their lungs. He would always take, take, take without giving back, but nobody dared cross the line with him because his very presence was enough make everyone cower.

One thing they had in common: they were perfect. They had absolutely no weaknesses.

But of course, that wasn't true, Clove thought to herself. She reminded herself where she was. In her room, on the tribute train to the Capitol. She was still holding the note. Could it have come from Cato? Was it some sort of explanation? Or an apology, even? Clove wasn't ready for anything yet. If there was something she learned from wearing her mask, it's that she, with or without it, knows how to fire back. She was too proud to accept an apology without making the person apologizing feel like he/she owes her.

Now, she realized what felt so wrong with her row with Cato. They had been friends for seven years, but it had been the only time he wore his mask before her. That's why she felt like she did not know him.

_Mask on, then._ Clove felt her lips quirk up a bit. _Well, if this is going to be a game_, her thoughts directed to Cato, _you are so going to lose. _


	3. Chapter 3

CATO

The Capitol attendant ran in fright while pressing ice against his bruised cheek.

"Don't let me see your face again!" Cato shouted after him. His hand was still bleeding from the glass of wine he had crushed in his despair. The Capitol attendant had rushed to his aid, but he waved his offer away with a lot of profanity. When the attendant still wouldn't leave, he used his functional hand to make sure he wouldn't dare venture near him again.

Cato was wishing that Clove had already seen the note he left in her room. He wished, with the tiny sliver of hope remaining inside him, that she would understand, that she would realize that he was wearing his mask in front of her because the circumstances set between them wouldn't let him do otherwise. Because he was a coward. He was too afraid to let her know what he was feeling because he was afraid of rejection. His pride, all high and mighty, would rather make him lie to her just to give him the sense that he still had the upper hand; that he wasn't losing in this stupid game of love.

It was his hand that was bleeding, but it was his heart that was hurting.

He just sat there, watching the blood from his palm drop onto the carpet, and he would have had just stayed like that until some unusually strong stimuli would wake him up, when his mentor, Enobaria, entered the room and said, "What did you do to your hand?"

"It's none of your business," Cato said. He thought: mask on.

Enobaria bared her surgically implanted teeth in a grotesque attempt at a grin. "I'm your mentor, so technically, this is exactly the kind of stupidity I am expected to deal with. And I'm telling you, you have to stop breaking things just because you feel like it."

"You don't have to act like my lousy mother just because you're my mentor."

"Let's get your stupid hand fixed."

"If I bleed to death, what are you gonna do?"

"You're not gonna bleed to death through your stupid hand."

"Stop saying stupid a lot. It doesn't count. You can cuss all you like."

But Enobaria was cool enough not to pay attention to Cato's immature babbling. She made Cato stand up and follow her to the train clinic for treatment.

Afterwards, Cato had a white bandage around his injured hand. Enobaria lingered for a while, then said, "Get yourself together."

"What are you talking about?"

"You'd have to do better than that in concealing that you have your teenage heart broken, son."

Cato laughed. "I break girls' hearts. I don't get mine broken."

"If you say so," Enobaria said with an I-know-something-you-don't kind of look in her eyes. "And by the way, we're half an hour from the Capitol. Get ready." Then she left, leaving Cato still poised cockily. As soon as she was out of sight, he thought to himself, _I love you, Clove, but it looks like I'm going to have to wait, like I have for the past two years._

CLOVE

"Clove, thirty minutes to the Capitol!" piped Enobaria, her mentor.

"I know, Enobaria."

"I knew you'd say that."

Hey, what about that mentor advice I'd been asking you?" Clove asked.

"What about you look for Cato so I could tell you at the same time?"

"What about you look for him yourself and I'd just grab a drink and wait for you here?"

"Ever the disrespectful little monarch, Clove. You remind so much of me."

Clove laughed. "I'd take that as a 'Keep it up'."

"Do," said Enobaria and left Clove to her own devices.

Clove killed the remaining thirty minutes doing what she did best- aside from flinging knives at people, of course. She let her legs take her wherever they wanted to go, and subconsciously she must have been thinking of Cato because the next thing she knew, she was in the dining area with him for the second time that day.

She watched him watch the light seeping in through the window illuminate the tiny dust particles suspended in the air, with a distant expression on his face. For a moment, all she saw was Cato's face: the perfectly crafted features, the depth of his stare, and the impression that he was somewhere only he could see.

But she looked too long.

"Here to say sorry, Clovey?" Cato asked, his silent demeanor vanishing, to be replaced by his usual cruel hardness. "Finally worked out that everything you thought I was is a lie?"

"I wouldn't be sorry if you were dead, Cates, so—"

"_Cato. C-A-T-O. _Say it again, nice and slow."

"—so why would I be sorry because you're nothing but a pile of dung?" Clove finished, unfazed by the fact that Cato just made her stop calling him by his only nickname.

Cato put his hand—why were there bandages? - against his chest like he was touched. "Nobody ever said that to me before. Thank you. It'll be something I'll remember forever."

"Tell me if you need more, I've got loads," Clove said.

"Okay, so if you're not here to beg for my forgiveness…"

Clove reached into her pocket then brought out the note with the word mask on it. "Why, I came here to thank you for this reminder." _No, I don't understand what this is about, and I don't know what I'm doing, and I can't keep on pretending like I do. _But she never said it aloud.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but unless I fell and cracked my skull –which I didn't- I never wrote that absurd little note," Cato said, grinning like he felt he scored another point.

Clove knew he was messing with her, but she couldn't help it. All her plans to avenge her hurt feelings dissolved.

"That's a disgusting lie," she spat.

Cato raised his bandaged hand, like it was proof that he couldn't right.

"Nice try, Cates. Last I heard, you were ambidextrous."

Why was Cato lying so outrageously? What was going on? "She figured it out. I would clap, but my hand here hurts."

"What are you getting at?"

Cato shrugged, like he couldn't possibly care less. "This conversation has been pointlessly stupid so far. Let's just end this before we suffer severe chronic retardation."

"Don't you, already?" Clove snapped.

"Look, I have to get ready. I can almost see the Capitol from here."

Clove was not in the mood to let it all go just yet, but Cato was right. They both had to review and mentally rehearse their acts, their made-up personalities for the Capitol audience: the real thing. So, still clueless, she said "Whatever," then busied herself by sharpening her handy knife on the table until Cato left, perhaps thinking it was his turn to walk out. And just in time, too, because right then, the imposing high-rises and candy-colored skyscrapers of the Capitol loomed into view.

They had arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

CATO

"I don't think I need prepping," Cato said, as Meredith, a woman with electric blue hair and a tattoo of her own face on her neck, asked him to wear a paper-thin robe in place of his clothes.

"I think you do, Cato," Meredith answered. "Everybody does."

"Well, count me out, because other than my inability to put up with the garbage that people like you say, I'm perfect."

"Be a good boy and do as we ask you to; we're wasting time." Meredith said.

"You call time with me wasted time? I can meet my stylist here and now."

"No, okay? Even if what you're claiming is true, near-perfection can be made better. Be a good little tribute."

"What could be better than the original best?"

"What did your mentor say about this?" asked Selene, another member of his prep team. She looked about twenty years old, but her hair was pure white.

"Nothing," said Cato shortly.

"Nothing?"

"Are you deaf? I originally thought you Capitol freaks just had terrible accents. I didn't know you asked everything twice." Out of everything in his act, Cato liked this part best. He didn't have to lie about it. He hated the Capitol like a lion hated a snake.

"Alright, then. I'm afraid we'll have to use the alternative on you."

"Elaborate."

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I commanded you to."

"Do you own me? Because unless you do, you can't give me a single damn command." Selene was…interesting, thought Cato. Not that he found it attractive or anything. It was just interesting that she had the nerve to talk to him like that, when he knew for a fact that prep teams were all soft-hearted idiots running around in ridiculous hair colors.

"Perhaps Meredith can tell me," Cato said.

"We're gonna inject a drug into your bloodstream to knock you out!" Augusta, a teenage girl with pink hair and lips, squealed, seemingly glad to be of service.

"Why, thank you, Augusta," said Cato charmingly. Augusta blushed.

Selene shot the girl an angry glance. "So, now, you know. The choice is yours," she snapped.

It was hard for Cato to recognize that Selene had scored a point against him. There simply wasn't any way he would let anyone, especially those three roaches, fuss over him while he was unconscious. The Capitol had enough on its hand already without violating him in his sleep. But he still had one ace up his sleeve.

Pulling his shirt over his head and grinning, he said, "If you insist."

It was something to be proud of. Years of training and working out had given him his perfectly toned torso. He was a fair, muscled cyborg of a man. The effect of the sight of it on his prep team, except for Selene, who remained straight-faced throughout the ordeal, was enough self-accomplishment for a year. _If he lived that long._

Meredith and Augusta were giggling like schoolgirls. Augusta was so unmistakably red Cato found it hard not to laugh. "See, I told you!"

"Point taken," said Meredith, shaking her head.

"Let's get to work," Selene barked to the two awestruck idiots.

"It's just the tip of the iceberg, ladies," Cato said, feeling almost amused and at ease. But at the last moment, he remembered _her_, and how he knew that she would never blush or betray embarrassment under any circumstance. After all, it was one of the things he liked best about her.

Selene made him strip his remaining clothes, and then the prep team did their job. Cato was aching all over again at the thought of Clove, but he thought crossly to himself: _Get out of my mind, Clove. Get out._

XXX

CLOVE

For Clove, prepping was just a two-hour ride through hell and back. It was hugely uncomfortable as it was, and with her prep team bobbing and fussing over her while she was naked and knifeless, it was just plain nasty. To keep from striking each one of them with a well-placed hit, she thought about home. The two-story building with her gambler parents? No. Truth be told, the only person she called family was Jax, her older brother, who died when Clove was twelve. Jax had been reaped for the Games when he was eighteen. He was killed in the flood. Jax had been the nicest guy in the world. He had always been the mother and the father that Clove had, but always missed. Since his death, Clove made a personal vow to win her own Games for him. And, now, she was on the road to fulfilling that.

Clove's home was the Training Center, where she spent every single day of her life since she was eleven. Her parents pushed her to sign up there, and when she did, they acted like they no longer had a daughter: free from obligation, save for their gambling responsibilities. Her room had been the area where they kept the knives and swords. Everyday, she would wake up, get a good grip on any sharp object, hurl it across the room, and then she'd be up for another day of beating everyone in her level.

Except Cato, who was just so good at everything, it was hard to believe he was real. Cato, who she'd met when she hit her first bull's eye ever. It took two months before they talked again, and that time it was about Clove's acceleration to Level 4, the second-highest level, when she was just fourteen. Before either of them realized, they were friends: friends who were so mean and brutal to others but nice and caring around each other. Just thinking of Cato made Clove _feel._ She didn't know how to put it exactly, but the general idea was Cato was the only person after Jax that she would entrust her own life.

But now, she didn't know if that was still true. The often hidden nice side to her told her to understand. It was a hard time for both of them. Maybe Cato was just feeling pressured into acting like that. But her pride screamed at her, _He's doing it on purpose!_ That much she knew, but it was just as good as a wavering candle in an impenetrable darkness. In other words, she was lost.


	5. Chapter 5

CATO

People called Cato a lot of things, but most of them called him ill-tempered. That much was true.

"Let me ask you a question, jerkette," he snapped at his stylist, Kayla. "Can't you stylists, for all your worth, make something that's even the least bit nice?

He looked at himself in the full-length mirror in front of him. He didn't look that bad, actually. His muscles were on display, but a gladiator costume, really? He was about to throw another insult at his stylist, when Clove's voice inside his head pulled him up short. _"I know you're building up this arrogant little attitude, but, honestly, you're so vain it makes me wanna puke."_

Cato didn't like any kind of criticism. He was too full of himself for that; but he wanted to believe the words Clove spoke, for some blind reason.

Kayla looked at him sharply and said "What does your appearance matter? You're from District 2. You're gonna be okay.

"Uh-huh," muttered Cato, holding himself back.

"So, I take it that you're not going to give me one tiny bit of appreciation.

"That's the first time you said something right," Cato said coolly.

Nodding, Kayla said, "I expected as much.

Cato looked around his part of the Remake Center, then out the window. One by one, he saw the tributes coming out of the building in their ridiculous costumes. But then, he realized, he was also one of them: another part of the freak show.

"You gotta get going," said Kayla.

"That's what I'm doing," he said, heading for the door without even looking back. Kayla did not follow, which was good enough for him. He'd had enough of the Capitol.

When he finally opened the door and walked out, his heart almost jumped out of his ribcage. Clove had gone out the same time he did, and now they were facing each other. She looked so beautiful, even in an outfit complementing his.

"What?" Clove said to him, a wild fire burning in her eyes.

Cato realized he didn't have a reply. But then he remembered, _Oh. Mask. Mask._ _You're supposed to be cool and not caring around Clove._

"Where's Enobaria?" Clove asked.

_Calm down, for heavenssake, _Cato thought. "I don't know. Maybe we should just go on our own.

"Maybe," Clove said, then walked off towards the crowd of tributes like a goddess at ease around her mortal constituents. She turned. "You're not, like, scared, Cates?

"You know me, Clove. Why should I be?" he answered, following her.

Among the other tributes, they appeared almost like friends, which they were, although he wasn't quite sure right now. They'd struck up small talk, both of them pretending like they remembered nothing of their recent quarrel. But their exchanges were short, their tone stiff. Cato wanted right then and there to tell her everything, to beg for her forgiveness for being such a jerk. But he knew he couldn't.

_Lie to her. Tell her everything to prove that the promise wasn't true. Save her. Protect her. But don't let her know. _

When asking himself why, Cato always thought, if _she_ chooses to save _him, _his pride would collapse like the walls of Jericho. Moreover and primarily, though: Clove had to win. He just couldn't imagine her lifeless in his arms. It would crush him like a bug.

"It's starting Cato," Clove said beside her. "Better secure your mask on."

XXX

CLOVE

The anthem started to play loud in the speakers, but the roar of the crowd as the tributes from District 1 rolled past in their chariot was louder. Clove put on her most dazzling smile, not meaning it to be pretty. She wanted her smile to look bold, fear-inducing. She would rather die than appear soft and whimsical in front of this freakish city.

But then she caught Cato looking at her, or Cato caught her looking at him, Clove wasn't certain; and he was also smiling. So she held his gaze and smiled back, half-wishing he could read her thoughts which, at the moment, screamed: These people are cheering as we begin our procession to death, Cato. I'm utterly alone in the middle of tens of thousands of people. _I need you._

But considering their latest history, she couldn't tell him that.

"Hey, Clove," Cato called, not looking at her.

"What?

"Look, one idiot threw me a flower!" He was laughing.

"Why are you laughing?" she shouted.

"Why not?" Cato shouted back.

Why not, indeed. The only way to keep from killing Capitol people was to dismiss their crazed, stupid delusions as comedy. She understood Cato. Those freaks were the worst kind of humans there were for finding the death of twenty-three innocent children every year _entertaining, _for cheering for those children like they were gods come to life, and then cheering for them tributes as they slaughtered one another in the arena.

Being trained for this, most would probably expect Clove to _love_ the Hunger Games, but they expected wrong. If the irony of her grim situation was lost on her parents, on her trainers, on her colleagues, it wasn't lost on Clove. She was trained, sure. But only one could go home and live a life of luxury. Even if you were from District 2, your chance of winning was a fifty-fifty. Just because she was trained didn't mean that she was safe from death by murder.

There was another circumstance. Say, if you and your district partner were the last ones alive, what would you do? What would _Clove_ do? When her ego determined firsthand that she could win, but her district partner was so strong and brave that anyone could see that he deserved a spot in the final showdown?

What would Clove do, when every time she thought of Cato, she remembered their promise to each other?

But she also remembered his harsh words, his lies. She couldn't help but ask herself if the Cato she was standing next to at that moment was still the Cato she made the promise with.

The crowd's noise pulled Clove out of her own, secluded thoughts. She looked up at the screen and saw what everybody else was seeing: the tributes from District 12, in their fiery costumes. The girl had little makeup on, but she looked very sensational in her get-up. The same was true for the boy. But the fact that they were better than her and Cato seemed to wake Clove up from her trance. This was _it._ The beginning of the Games. And District 2 couldn't afford to be upstaged and outdone, especially by those poor brats.

Cato was thinking the same thing. "Really? District 12?" he said to Clove.

"I know," she answered. "Lucky. Looks like they've got a good stylist.

"But nobody ever won through a good stylist.

Clove knew what he was thinking. It was time to show the others what District 2 was really made of.

"Don't worry. Training starts tomorrow.

Cato looked at her, his eyes glinting. He was in his element. "I guess I just had my target selected.

"Me, too," Clove said.

It wasn't time for thinking about Cato anymore. If she did have something for him, she'd wait for it to present itself. Because at that moment, Clove sensed that both Cato and her were back wearing their masks on full-time. For them, the Hunger Games have already begun.


	6. Chapter 6

CATO

_The moon shone brightly in the heavens above, and the wind blew softly, rustling the leaves of the old tree under which they sat, Cato and Clove, watching the world below them like they were the king and queen of it all. It was Clove's birthday. She just turned sixteen. Cato had slapped a bow on an ancient book he'd dug up from his grandfather's basement and gave it to Clove as gift. _

"_I really couldn't get you anything else, I mean, I'm broke, man," he had said. "But, since you like old books, well, happy birthday, Clove." _

_Clove examined the book, not an expression on her beautiful face. "Military? Really, Cato?" she said, but she was smiling the smile that he loved best. "Gee, you really shouldn't have. But thanks." _

"_Yeah, my great-great grandfather was a soldier or something. He passed that book on to his descendants, but my dad's not interested in that kind of stuff anymore, so…it's pretty worthless at home, anyway, but I thought you'd like it," Cato said. _

"_This is just worthless for you because you don't read at all. This is priceless!" _

_Cato smiled. Clove flipped the book open and, despite the darkness, began to read. She was into it about five seconds in._

"_Totally ignore the person who gave you the gift. Nice, really." He said, but he wasn't really mad. He just watched her read. He liked the way she disappeared from the world around her just by reading; it was like she had a dimension of her own, a dimension where nobody else was allowed into. Well, he liked everything else about her. _

_And in that moment, when the sound of the wind was the only sound he could hear, Cato realized, with the gentleness but intensity of a match being struck, that he felt _something _for Clove, which was saying something, because he was famous for being the most cold-hearted and unforgiving trainee in all of District 2. He simply did not feel. But for Clove, he mysteriously and unknowingly did. _

And sure enough, that little something turned out, unmistakably, to be love.

Cato turned around in bed, unable to sleep. It was the night after the parade in the City Circle. He was trying to get some sleep, but his restless mind had other plans, namely: digging up all his memories of Clove and showing it to him like a movie on infinite replay.

_Some day, _he wished bitterly,_ I'm going to set things right. _Impossible.

Tomorrow would be the first day of training, and for Cato, it would be like having a piece of himself back. To be with all those lethal weapons would be like morphling through his veins. The sad, disgusting fact about him was that he'd grown to actually _like_ besting everyone when it came to hurting people. The only person that could hold him back was, strangely enough, Clove, who also took pleasure in the pain she caused others. Clove would say, "That's enough for the day, Cates." He would look at her, amused, then ask her why she always stopped him from getting too injurious. Clove would good-naturedly say," You could always get back to him some other day. Let him get his guts back." And that would settle the situation once and for all.

And just like that, he was thinking of her again and the pain was coming back and after some time, some great force must've pitied him because he finally found himself falling asleep, despite everything, himself included.

XXX

CLOVE

Unlike Cato, sleep found Clove as soon as she hit her bed, and soon enough she was dreaming.

Or maybe nightmare was the right word.

In her nightmare, she was lying on her back inside a wooden box. It gave the impression of being in the wooden coffin the Capitol used to encase the dead tributes in. Her head just brushed the top panel of the box, and her nose just touched the vile-smelling wood. She tried moving her arms and legs, but to no avail. The dimensions of the box were enough to make her fit, but whoever constructed seemed to have forgotten to allot allowances for even the slightest movement.

It _was_ a coffin. She was trapped. Panic rose inside Clove, and soon enough she was screaming her throat out, never stopping for breath. Even worse, the box seemed to shrink in size minute by minute. Tears streamed through Clove's eyes, shut closed in terror. Breathing was hard enough in that confined space, harder because the whole thing smelled of blood, but the hardest part was she was screaming so loud in despair that she felt her lungs giving up inside her. It felt like hell itself.

And when she felt that it was the end of her as far as she was concerned, an unseen force was shaking her so hard it felt like the earth itself was vibrating.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in her room, with Cato standing beside her bed and looking at her with the softest expression she'd ever seen.

"I heard you screaming," he said. "I came over to check on you."

"I was that loud?" was all Clove said.

"Loud enough for me to hear. Sounded like somebody was slaying you," said Cato.

"I had a nightmare."

"And?"

"I don't' wanna talk about it."

Cato shrugged. "Okay, but don't do that again. I was trying to sleep."

"Well, I didn't do it on purpose."

"I know."

Clove was awake now. Any streak of sleepiness was gone. She sat up in bed and asked Cato to make himself at home. He settled next to her on the bed, his hands clasped together. He looked uncomfortable.

"Why did you come for me?" asked Clove before the silence got unbearable.

"Because you screamed so loud every cell in my body thought it was dawn and I had to get up for the day."

Clove nodded, then felt weird. What for?

Then it hit her. "We're talking again."

"Of course we are. We're not mute. Don't be stupid."

She would like to say more on that, but figured it would be awkward. "I didn't mean that. But, hey, you can go back. "

"You wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway." Was Clove wrong? Or did Cato imply that he wanted to stay?

"We're supposed to be mad at each other, Cates. You as good as rubbed it in my face that time in the train. Our masks? We're supposed to wear them even in the dead of the night. We're going to the arena. We need all the practice we could get. At least, I do."

Cato looked away. Clove could've sworn he looked hurt. And she did feel hurt, too. It was like being stabbed in the gut to be a few weeks away from your death with no one she could turn to when things got bad. But, business was business. They were professionals, so to speak.

When Cato finally stood up and left, he didn't even look back, but he did stop at the doorway, like he was hesitating. Then he must've thought better of it. He left, pulling the door close behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

CATO

The general population would agree that the best way to release one's frustrations and aches was screaming or shouting or bellowing or just making a lot of noise, but Cato was not part of the general population.

Meaning, he spent his entire first day of training saying nothing at all. The others watched him warily, like they were afraid he was going to pounce on them when he got the chance. Even Clove, who dismissed their first real conversation since they arrived in the Capitol with stinging words, looked like she was worried. But Cato didn't care. That day, he planned to just give everything in pretending like he was already in the arena, fighting for fame while the others fought for their lives. That day, he thought only of himself, like a true tribute from District 2 should.

Clove didn't talk to him, either. That was just the kind of people they were.

Cato watched the other tributes like they were his personal demons. He wondered who among them he would kill, who among them he would laugh at while they bled to death at his feet. He wondered if he would feel any different, or if he would still feel like the person he grew up believing he was: a boy who sent many souls into the infirmary, a boy who learned more than fifty ways to hurt a person when he was just thirteen, and a boy who never knew a life without all the bloodshed.

The obstacle course was the easiest thing in the world; they were taught how to scale any level of obstacle courses in their first year. He couldn't help but shake his head, grinning, at all the effort everybody else was putting in the simplest of tasks. The spear-throwing booth attracted his attention, so he stayed there the longest. About thirty minutes into it, someone coughed behind him.

It was the girl from District 1. Tall, blonde, girl-next-door pretty. The kind of girls back home who tripped over themselves talking to him.

"You're good at this!" she squealed. Cato ignored her.

"Well, you're welcome," the girl said, rolling her eyes, then walked away, her hips swaying.

Cato kept on throwing spears, so much so that about half of the tributes stopped what they were doing to watch him. Accomplished, he straightened up and looked around him. Only Clove and the girl from District 12 weren't looking at him. Clove was intentionally ignoring him; he knew that much, but the girl from 12 didn't seem to notice him at all. She didn't seem intimidated by him, which made Cato more intrigued. _We'll see how unafraid you are when I personally deliver your letter from hell_, he thought, then moved on the swords section and made every dummy bleed straw until it was time for lunch, until he was sitting next to Clove, just staring at her hands as they moved as she talked to the other Careers and just listening to her voice as she spoke, which seemed so beautiful but was actually a rusty dagger stabbing ugly holes in his heart of hearts.

CLOVE

"No, I don't like you. I can't even remember your name," Clove said to the boy from District 1, who was already making moves on her. They'd known each other for about two hours. She'd said 'hi' first, but that was only because she couldn't bear the silent treatment Cato was giving her. Now this guy was probably thinking she was on to something.

"Alright, alright! Chill, Clove," he said, as Clove slapped his hand away.

"Why don't you flirt with Blondie here?" Clove teased, totally ignoring Cato who sat beside her in the Career table because he really didn't have much of a choice.

"That's what I told him, but he didn't listen. Marvel likes brunettes," Glimmer, the girl from 1, said with a beam. "Your partner isn't speaking, and I don't think he's mute," she added.

For the first time that day, Clove didn't know what to say. But Cato graciously looked up from his food to Glimmer, and said casually, "I was just wondering if you and Marvel had something going on, but now that I know you don't, well, that's more space for me, right?"

Glimmer blushed and she didn't even try to hide it. "But you ignored me when I praised you," she said.

"That was me being cool," Cato said. Then Glimmer and him got into a conversation and seemed to forget that they had company.

Clove knew he was bluffing, but it rubbed her the wrong way. It was almost painful. Real painful. She never really thought about this kind of stuff then, but now, could it be, could it be… that she liked Cato? Absurd. She almost laughed out loud. Of course, she liked Cato. They wouldn't be friends now if she did not like him. But the idea of liking him actually made her smile inside. She felt like a real girl. Almost. Then she dismissed the idea as foolishness. It would not do to think like that in a time like this. For the next two days, Clove poured her heart out in training. She still talked to the others, but rarely. Not once did Cato approach within a foot of her.

Marvel (she remembered his name now, alright) bugged her endlessly, so much so that one time on the third day, before the private sessions, she actually spat profanity at his face. It did not work. Marvel told her she was beautiful and that he liked her and it was okay if she didn't like him back.

"Really?" Clove asked, her guard down. The venom in her voice had gone away.

"Yes. I knew it from the first time I saw you," said Marvel, getting close and touching her face.

"Okay, go away," Clove said, pulling her arm back, but Marvel had a grip like iron.

"No, I like it here," he said. His face was about five inches from Clove's.

"You're disgusting. I'm giving you five seconds to leave me alone or I'll spit on your face."

Closer. She could smell his breath. Marvel was stronger than her, so she couldn't push him away. Clove was already gathering up her saliva at the back of her throat, ready to spit. And just as his face brushed hers, a great force pulled Marvel away from her and sent him crashing to the floor. Marvel swore, but his assailant wasn't done. He punched him in the face, possibly breaking his nose. Marvel got up, shaking his head, but it was apparent that he wasn't going to fight back.

"Go away," Cato said coldly.

"I've always known it, Cato," he said, laughing as he went.

Cato approached Clove. "Are you okay?" he asked forcefully.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, her mind buzzing.

He gripped her shoulders roughly. "He didn't touch you?"

Clove had recovered. "I wouldn't let him, stupid. What do you think?"

"Oh, good," Cato said, relief palpable in his voice.

What happened next was something Clove never thought she would do. She stepped forward and hugged Cato, tears streaming down her face. She missed him so much. Cato just held her, whispering again and again, "I'm so sorry, Clove."


	8. Chapter 8

CATO

That afternoon, after they had lunch, the District 2 team gathered around the television to watch the announcement of the tributes' training scores. Cato and Clove had gone back to not talking to each other. That little episode with Marvel had shaken them both and made them do things they wouldn't normally do, especially now that they were supposed to be angry; now was not the time to discuss it.

Clove sat next to Enobaria, and from Cato's position –standing behind one of the occupied couches with his arms crossed across his chest- Clove had miraculously erased any sign that she had cried earlier.

Nobody spoke for a while. Then just before the program started, one member of Cato's idiot prep team, the one with the tattoo of her own face on her skin, he'd forgotten the name already, squealed, "I'm so excited!" to which Cato replied so quietly he was certain no one heard, "You better be." But as he looked up he saw Clove turn to look at him with the ghost of a smile on her pretty face. She'd heard him, alright. _Of course_, Cato thought, feeling stupid. _Clove could hear like a bat from hell._

Marvel earned a nine, and Glimmer: eight. We'd do better than them, he thought, and he was right. They both pulled a 10. Cato was having a good mood until Everdeen's face was on the screen and the number eleven was flashing beside it.

Upstaged. Again.

There were congratulations, pats on the back, 'give 'em hell's . But in the end, he found out that he wasn't that concerned with the Games right now. He'd have enough of it two days from now. What he really wanted was peace with Clove, although he knew he couldn't achieve that. So just for the sake of doing something, he went around the building, passing closed doors. The tension in the other districts' floors was so intense, unlike in Cato's, where it almost seemed positive.

"You'll always think you have it easy when you're in the Capitol, among all those scared little tributes. You're going to be relaxed, almost," one of his trainers used to say.

The only place where the atmosphere didn't seem crushing was Glimmer and Marvel's floor. So Cato hung around, hiding like a little kid behind the couch and slumping on the floor. How like a madman.

Soon enough he had company. Glimmer was wearing something short.

"What are you doing here?" she said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I can't stay upstairs, go away," said Cato.

"Clove kicked you out, huh? And, kind sir, this is my floor, so you should be the one going away. But," Glimmer said, "I'm a nice hostess. I'm keeping you. Get up and sit on the couch or I'll sit here beside you in my short dress."

Amused, Cato answered, "Sit beside me in your short dress. Be a nice host."

So Glimmer sat beside him in her short dress and stretched out her long, flawless legs on the floor. Cato tried not to stare. Before the pause got too long, Glimmer asked, "What's the problem?"

"I don't have a problem."

"So why are you here?"

"I needed some time by myself, that's all," Cato said honestly. Glimmer was acting like a friend. That was good. Cato needed a friend.

"A time from Clove, you'd rather say," said Glimmer.

"What?" Cato asked a little too innocently.

"I know you love her, lover boy. It's more obvious than the fact that I look like a supermodel."

CLOVE

Clove looked for Cato but couldn't find him anywhere on the floor. She was finally ready to talk to him to clarify everything. She was ready to apologize and to accept apologies; what for, she didn't exactly know.

Cato saved her from Marvel. That perv. She also needed to thank him for that. But he was nowhere to be found, like he was purposely avoiding her. So she got in the elevator, closed her eyes and punched a random number. Cato would be back at dinner, she thought. They could talk later. She wanted to feel her feet walking. She would go anywhere in that accursed building to explore, and also to prepare for what she was going to say to Cato.

Clove felt the elevator descending. She swore to herself. District 1. Bad memories with the people there. She consoled herself by thinking everyone was probably locked up in their rooms, and she thought she was right. Until…until…

"I don't get it. She's just too…okay, I'll say it. She's just stupid sometimes. It's like she doesn't feel."It was Cato's voice, issuing from behind one of the silver couches.

"It's not her fault." That was Glimmer. She was pretty sure they were talking about her. A sense in her gut told her so.

"Whose, then?"

"Yours. You're too scared to say the things you want to say. That's why she doesn't have a clue."

"But, can't she pick up from what's happening? I mean, the girls back home always knew. Why doesn't she? God, I swear she could be stupid."

"Stop calling Clove stupid. She's not. She just doesn't understand."

Silence. What the hell were they talking about? And why was Clove the subject of it? And why, of all people, did Cato choose Glimmer to talk to about her? She was furious.

Cato began saying something again, something about her supposed stupidity; she really didn't hear him all that well. Then they were silent again. Clove never barged in on other people's conversations, but there's a first time for everything.

She walked calmly. It took forever, it seemed, but in reality it took about five seconds.

Glimmer was on Cato's lap. They were so physically close. Clove hated them both by then. She didn't know why. Judging from their positions, they were almost kissing. But Cato's eyes widened and he pushed Glimmer off him so roughly she yelped. Well, he wasn't too preoccupied to notice me, thought Clove.

"I see you're having a good time, folks. Excuse me," said Clove, her face burning. She went for the elevator, trying not to run. She could hear Cato coming after her, but she did not look back. She was done. Cato reached her as she stepped foot on the elevator, but she shut the door in his face, and just before the door clicked and all outside noise ceased, she heard Glimmer say sweetly, "What a cute little love story."


	9. Chapter 9

"Leave me alone," said Clove. Cato was standing on the doorway; somehow, he'd managed to follow her.

"What is your problem?" demanded Cato. His voice was loud enough to hear even if you were on the rooftop, thought Clove.

"I said leave me alone."

"What_ is_ your problem?" repeated Cato.

"Why should you care?"

"Maybe I'm wondering why you made such a racket out of that Glimmer incident!"

Clove was silent. She had no response. Why such a racket, indeed.

"Maybe you should stop yelling at me," was what she finally said, wincing inwardly at how lame that sounded.

"I'm not yelling at you!" yelled Cato, and it was almost funny if the situation hadn't been so. "Excuse me," he said, and shoved Clove out of the way so he can enter the room. He slammed the door shut.

"There. Yell all you like. I know you want to."

But Clove remained still as a statue and silent as the marble it was made from. But inside her was a different story altogether. Inside, it was all turbulent seas; she was a ship and all the waves were conspiring to bring her down, down to the bottom of that deep blue nightmare. All she knew was she was hurt. And angry. Very. But she didn't know why.

Soon she went to sit at the edge of the bed. Cato was looking out the window.

"Clove," he said, his eyes still trained on the distant skyscrapers under the glow of the three o'clock sun.

"Go away."

"No. Not until you tell me what's wrong. I've never seen you like this."

"Get out of my room."

Cato went for the door, as if defeated, but he stopped at the last second and leaned against it instead. He was grinning. "I know."

"What?"

"You're jealous."

Was she? Possibly; but the way Cato said it made her even more infuriated. Besides, what was there to be jealous of?

"You were talking about me behind my back, jerk. You said I was stupid, and you said it to Glimmer, of all people. I could kill you here and now for that offense."

"But you won't, because you can't."

"I most certainly can."

"You can't. You can't even look me in the eye right now."

"Backstabbing muscle of a boy, how like a girl is that?"

"Oh, cut it, Clove. You're out of things to say. All I'm sure of is you're jealous."

This time, something played across Clove's memory. There was Cato, tossing Marvel like he weighed no more than a pound. Beating the guy up. Asking her if she was alright. And finally, apologizing to her like he meant it.

It took a long time, but she was able to get it out."You were jealous first."

"Still thinking about what happened earlier, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

"Don't tell me you fell for that one, Clove!" Cato said, and he was almost laughing. He was mocking her.

"Don't tell me that was another lie." _Please._ Clove had already forgiven him. Come to think of it, she never even hated him, no matter how he made her. She couldn't imagine his apology to be a lie. It would be tragic. It would be sick.

This time, Cato really laughed. "I can't believe it, man. Was I that good?"

"Why do you keep doing this?"

"Hey—"

"Do you think it's funny? Do you think lying to me is funny? Did it ever occur to you that I might have feelings too?"

"Did it ever occur to you that you might need to chill?"

"Shut up!"

Clove's voice must've sounded pretty angry, because Cato did shut up. After a while, he said, "Look, I'm really sorry."

"I would like to say I believe you, but I don't," said Clove crossly.

"If you're mad about Glimmer, there's nothing to be jealous of, really."

"I told you I'm not jealous."

"Fine, if you say so. So what are you so mad about?"

"You're the biggest liar I've ever seen in my miserable life."

"What?"

Cato sounded bad. He knew it. Clove was really mad at him. When Clove was mad, she didn't hesitate to say what she thought. When Clove was mad, she could dig holes in Cato's heart, and she would. There was no stopping her now. And it was his fault.

"Look, Clove," he started, trying to backpedal. "I lied to you, yes, but it was… it was—"

"It was honest lying?" Clove suggested, her face clear of emotion.

"I lied because I had to."

"Because you had to? And why did you have to, huh, Cato? Because it's your insatiable need to make me believe that you were my friend, that you were someone I could trust? Is that it?"

Cato was not smooth with words. Even if he wanted to pour everything out then and there, he couldn't find the correct vocabulary.

"You don't understand. And if you listen, I'll tell you."

"No, I'll tell you. One by one," Clove said calmly.

And tell him, she did. First, she recounted all their first years, their friendship, their memories, their little fights, their little laughs, everything they did back home. Clove remembered everything as much as Cato did.

"I was climbing a fence, I fell you, you caught me, I told you my secrets, I told you about Jax and my family and everything. Everything, Cato! You told me everything, too. And I believed you. I believed you and I was stupid for that."

She continued, and at one point she had to keep her mouth shut because she burst into tears. She was suddenly crying so hard, and finally, all she was saying was, _"Everything is a lie. Everything."_

Cato had the worst idea. He said, "Not everything is a lie. I could tell you, but it looks like you're not interested." He kept his voice down for Clove's sake.

To what Cato said, Clove shouted, despite the tears, and despite herself, "Then tell me! Tell me something that's not a lie!"

Clove felt terrible. She was crying so hard it was embarrassing, but she didn't care. Cato took his time. He seemed to be pondering an extremely difficult decision.

"Tell me something that's real," she said in an almost inaudible whisper.

It was then that Clove realized that she was done caring. She knew from then on that there was a limit to the number of damns a person can give in his or her lifetime. Clove had undoubtedly reached hers. She had two options: she could go crazy over the things she could never reverse, or she could stop caring and giving herself away too much. The choice was simple.

All she was waiting for now was Cato's answer. If he chose to tell the truth this time, it would be the last Clove would hear from him. It would be the best thing Clove would remember him for. If he chose to lie once more, no harm would be done. It was that easy. Clove actually felt better.

Cato, meanwhile, was miserable as ever. He wanted to say what he wanted to say. But he knew it would hurt. But he also knew that at least, he'd get hurt trying. It was the final straw for Clove, he felt. It was now or never. Gathering up his courage, he spoke up.

Clove was so lost in thought she didn't hear Cato immediately. When she did, he sounded very far away.

"Clove, I'm sorry," he said.

"Okay," she answered, non-committal.

"Listen to me."

"I'm listening."

What happened next hit her squarely on the chest, fast as lightning. She swore she could've endured anything at all other than what Cato said.

"I promise you, this isn't a lie."

"Whatever."

"Look at me."

Clove did. Cato's eyes were shining with tears.

After forever, it seemed, he said:

"I love you."

Hey guys! I had to update even if my request with the reviews wasn't really met. I HAD TO. Now, I'm requesting again for your reviews. Tell me if you want me continue. Tell me if you want me to stop. Pleaaaaaase? Thanks, and i-love-you for reading and putting up with my Clato feels. -dash:)


	10. Chapter 10

**CATO**

He watched her for a long time, it seemed. He watched as she opened her mouth, but he didn't hear the words. All he could hear was the voice in his head, saying, "You are the biggest loser this world has ever known." He'd done it. He'd ruined everything, because it was so disgustingly obvious that his feelings weren't reciprocated. He could have just apologized and patched up their friendship. But he didn't. He chose to pour his heart out in a split-second decision, which completely backfired. "You are the biggest loser this world has ever known.

When his hearing had returned, Clove was saying, "…and you might have to get out, because you're so out of your mind, Cates. It's okay. Grab a drink or something. You're, like, delusional. And, um, hey, are you even listening?"

Something was wrong. Clove was talking too fast. It was like she couldn't find the right words so she was covering up with loads of them. Cato must have been assuming, he did that quite a lot, but he also knew her for almost seven years. He knew when she talked normally, and he knew when she didn't.

"You don't believe me," he said quietly.

When Clove said, "I'm sorry but I don't," the fight inside him was put out. All the fires were quenched. All the guns and the bombs were silenced. All that was left was his broken pride and heart. Nothing more was there.

"I told you the truth."

"Oh, God, Cato, you need to rest. We were just fighting normally, like we always do, then you turn our conversation into this? What is wrong with you? Are you pressured about the Games or something?"

"You asked for something that's not a lie and I told you!"

"_Please. Just go."_

"Clove." He pronounced her name carefully, like it would explode in his mouth. He was practically begging her to believe him. And then he thought it was a bad thing, because even if she did believe him, it wouldn't mean that she would love him back.

"Cato." Her voice was low. "Please. I'll have none of this. You won't, too. It's going to be better that way."

"Tell me you believe me."

She was silent. She turned away from Cato and looked out the window. The late afternoon sun was slowly making its way through the clouds. After a while, Clove said, "I need to have some time with myself."

And he gave her that, because their situation was so hopelessly pathetic it hurt. When Clove turned again to tell Cato to go away, he was gone.

**CLOVE**

Cato was gone. He left her alone. Clove got what she wished for. So why was she feeling this bad?

"One day, you're going to wake up and realize that you're a teenage girl, and teenage girls feel," Mayelle said to her once. Mayelle was her next-door neighbor. She was four years Clove's senior, but they played around when they were little.

Mayelle's dead. Don't think about her, Clove thought.

"I love you." That's what he said. That's what he told her was real. She now understood why people had to be careful what they wish for. They just might get more than what they asked for.

Clove locked the door and crashed into her bed, wide-awake. She looked at the world outside and saw the sun. She always saw the sun first. When it had turned into an orange marble in the sky, she watched it intently, trying not to think of Cato and her absurd little feelings, until it disappeared, leaving behind a gold, blood-red sash across the sky.

"Dinner time!"

Somebody was knocking. Clove didn't know she'd fallen asleep. With a yawn and a stretch, she got out of bed and was almost out the door when she remembered that dinner meant having to see Cato. _I could eat here,_ she thought, but realized that not showing up would raise questions, and questions would raise rumors, and rumors would raise lies. Lies: ugly little monsters that she despised so much.

In the end, she decided to go to the dining area and eat with the others. Good thing she showed up, because Cato didn't. Having both of them absent would mean bigger controversy.

While she was digging through her food, Enobaria asked, "Have you seen Cato?"

"No."

"I heard you fighting."

Several pairs of eyes looked at Clove. Enobaria, Brutus, her stylist and Cato's, their escort.

"We hadn't been fighting." That was all she said. Nobody looked like they believed Clove, but she wasn't going to give them an explanation.

Dinner proceeded quietly. After, Enobaria cornered Clove on her way to her room.

"You've got an hour with me tomorrow for the interview."

"Got that," Clove said.

"And, another hour with the escort, whatshername?"

"Okay."

"Are you okay?"

"Do you want to know the truth?"

"You're not going to tell me anyway."

"You're right."

Enobaria smiled. She could have been Clove's mother. She was always cool, polite, and motherly when she was herself, but when she wasn't, well, those surgically altered teeth weren't obtained for nothing.

"Let me tell you a secret, Clove," Enobaria said.

"Make sure I don't know that one yet."

"Oh, scratch it. You already know it, judging from the fact that he didn't show up for dinner tonight."

Clove scowled. "What?"

Enobaria was laughing softly. "Oh, you teenagers are so cute, but remember, you're going to the Games. Only one can win, Clove. Sort out those feelings before they get out of hand."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know full well what I'm talking about."

"Then tell me what to do."

"I'm not in the position to do so, but here's something: Don't be a fool. How's that?"

"I'm not a fool."

"I wasn't meaning it literally. Figure it out."

When Clove was silent, Enobaria scoffed, "Oh, I can't believe I'm giving you advice on your little love affair!" Then she went.

Hours upon hours of night passed, and all that time, Clove's eyes were open, and she was thinking that the situation she was in was so horribly confusing. She didn't like any of it. She didn't know where to stand, what to feel, what to say. And it wasn't helping that she was going to the arena just a few days away.


	11. Chapter 11

**CATO**

"We don't want that attitude showing tonight," Brutus said severely.

He was evidently disappointed with Cato's performance in the training session—he did not get the highest score, after all – and now, he was sitting there in front of his mentor and friend, a stolid wreck.

Cato was looking down, and he barely raised his head when he said, "I know, I know."

"Let's try again. Ready?" Brutus asked.

"Do you want to know the truth?"

Brutus exhaled aloud, pissed off. "One more time."

"Fine," Cato snapped. Putting on his old arrogant face, he said, "Go ask whatever the hell you want."

His mentor was still wary. "I'm a sponsor. Introduce yourself to me."

Cato corrected his posture on the chair. Then he slouched back again, saying, "I'm Cato and you'd be crazy not to sponsor me."

'What can you do?"

"You mean what I _can't_ do."

Brutus smiled. His boy was coming back.

"I can't do anything that won't involve inflicting pain to people." Then Cato winced inwardly, mentally cursing himself because what he just said was lame. And true. He'd hurt Clove more than he'd ever like to, and it just so happened that he knew how to hurt him back—a hundred times harder.

The room was suddenly filled by Brutus' sarcastic guffaw. "Come on, Cato. You sound like a lovesick middle schooler. "

"What does it matter to you if I'm anything but an arrogant prick?" Cato said drily. He checked his watch. Ten minutes 'til break time.

"Because you're like a little brother to me," Brutus taunted.

It was Cato's turn to laugh. "Some brother you are."

"What happened to you?"

"None of your stupid mentoring business."

The sun was at its peak, and its light was boring through the thick glass of the room. Cato could not help but wish he would burn right then and there, just for the hell of it. Then he remembered Clove, the girl who could be a giant pain in the ass. She was a much bigger pain in the heart.

Silence hung as Brutus filled in the blanks for himself. "Oh, okay. I get it. Clove."

Cato sighed. "Brutus—"

Chuckling quietly, Brutus mumbled, "You've got quite a problem here."

Now, there was a wide variety of things that Cato could have done. Instead, he blushed and covered it up by swearing loudly. He stood and knocked the chair to the carpeted floor. It wasn't noon yet, but he started for the door. His mentor made no attempt to stop him, and why should he? Cato would just pretend he couldn't hear him.

But before he was out of the accursed place, Brutus called out, more friendly than mentor-ly, "You're too proud to confirm, but too timid to deny. You're on your own now, Cato."

Cato realized that he was.

**CLOVE**

She was too busy staring into space she didn't hear Enobaria snapping her fingers and saying, "Wait up, Clove. You're not telling me something."

It took a rough mental shove to clear Clove's mind.

"What's going on?" Enobaria asked for the nth time.

"Nothing, really. Pre-Games jitters?" Clove lied. A bad one.

"Oh, come on. You're not that type of person. And you're not a very good liar."

"What time is it?" Clove inquired impatiently.

"You should have brought your own watch."

"I'm going," Clove said, standing up. "I'm done with your prying. I'd like to thank you for being my mentor, but I won't." And just like that, she left Enobaria.

During lunch, the stress and tension were evident on the table. The adults were well, but the tributes were both sullen. They were both picking at their food.

"What's up, you two?" Brutus teased. Enobaria was grinning.

Silence. Broken only by the scraping of forks and knives. The little game they were playing was at its highest point. Clove would like to believe that it was just that. A game. But the truth was, she did not know what to say. There was a strange feeling building in her chest, something deep and mysterious.

But it wasn't new.

It felt like it had been there all along, concealed within folds of hate and pretention. There was also confusion, but she hoped she would get it sorted out as soon as possible, because she was running out of time.

And that was why, after the interview, after the arrogance, after the lies, she showed up before Cato's door, still in her beautiful red dress. He opened up, and was greeted by Clove's words, which went like this:

"How much of it was a lie?"

"None. Zero," Cato said with a hollow voice, defeated.

"Then say it."

"Say what?"

Clove hit him on the arm. "You know what I'm talking about, you stupid little man."

"Clove, if you're planning to shame me, I wo—"

"I'd like to hear it." Clove squeezed her own hand. "Say it!" She would bet her voice carried over to the twelfth floor.

Looking alarmed by the intensity of her voice. He exhaled. What could he do? He was already dead. He was just waiting for the blood to start dripping out of his body. A repeat confession could not possibly hurt.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?" Clove knew she could be such a brat.

"Okay. I love you. I don't care if one of us is going to die. I fell for you. There's no getting back up now. But this is the kind of falling that I like."

Clove actually cracked a smile despite the atmosphere. "Good to hear that."

"Wha—" He never finished his sentence.

Before she could curse for being so weak, Clove was crying, and laughing, and telling Cato, "I love you, too."


	12. Chapter 12

Despite the silence, Cato's ears were ringing. Could it be true?

He looked at Clove, who was positively shining in her evening gown. He choked many times, but he managed to stammer, "Wha—what did that mean?"

"That meant I love you, too," said Clove, in between sobs.

"What?" Because that was certainly too much information.

Clove replied by launching herself upon him. She collapsed in his arms, her head on his chest and her arms around his neck. She cried like a little fountain, soaking Cato's shirt. But he did not care. In fact, he was not capable of anything much. He just stood there, still as a rock, numb from head to toe, as the girl he loved proved that she loved him, too. Did she kiss him? He wasn't sure. But he felt amazing.

When Clove detached herself from Cato, red in the face, she asked, "Do you believe me now?"

And he embraced her with all the force in his body. His every cell was screaming. He was on fire.

This was bliss. This was a point in time when reality blended with imagination, when lies ceased to exist, when uncertainties faded to dust. He could not speak, but when he could, said. "I might want to hear that again."

"I. Love. You." Clove smiled. "That's the last one, though. Any more than that and I think I'd start puking, idiot."

"You're an idiot for loving me back," he said, beaming.

"That makes two of us."

They went inside the room and sat on the bed, staring out the window. When glorious ecstasy devolved into simple, indescribable joy, Cato asked, "So when did you know that you loved me?"

Clove was still looking at the sky outside. "I've known it all along. I just did not know what 'it' was until now. You?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe since your sixteenth birthday, when I gave you that book."

She laughed. "Oh, that. Next awkward question. Why me?"

"I would have chosen anyone but you, but my gooey little monster of a heart has other plans."

"You sound like you're regretting it."

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, yeah?"

"What do you think?"

Clove smiled. Cato still could not believe it. Clove looked so beautiful, even more now, just because he knew she loved him, too.

"Sorry for being such a dick," Cato said.

"No, it's fine. Especially now." Clove finally looked at him. "But I think I need an explanation."

He shifted uncomfortably and chose his words carefully. "I wanted to let you win," he said. "I still do. I want to protect you; that's why I volunteered. God, I thought that was obvious. But if I told you the truth, I thought, maybe you'd try to do stupid things, like protecting me back. That would get you nothing but trouble. There's going to be one victor, and it has to be you."

Clove opened her mouth to complain, but he cut her off.

"So I wanted to make you despise me. I wanted to make you hate me so deeply that the first thing you'd want to do in the arena is get rid of me. And I thought I was succeeding, until, of course…" He let the words trail.

He gazed at the floor. He felt relieved that he now had nothing to hold back.

"You're really an idiot, Cates," Clove mumbled, reusing that old nickname.

"I know."

"That was stupid."

"I know."

"Did you honestly think that I would be able to kill you?"

He did not. He trusted Clove with his life. But he was also desperate. He thought, if he pushed her hard enough, she would push him off a cliff; if he wounded her bad enough, she would cut his head off. He simply shook his head, finally branding himself stupid.

"I could not kill you, even if I had to," Clove said with finality. "I realized that just now, but yeah. I guess I love you that much." She sighed. "Yuck."

"I'm sorry I made you cry."

"It doesn't matter. I'm sorry for retaliating."

Cato shook his head again. Too much of this would lead to discussing the Games, and now that they knew what each other felt, the concept of one victor would only be more painful. "Let's just pretend that this is the beginning. No more lies and pretention and hate. We'd both start with a clean slate, okay?"

If this was the beginning, the end would be too soon, but none of them brought that up. This was their final night of freedom. They would not be wasting it on thinking too much.

Clove nodded. Then she smiled, and began retelling a long string of memories from District Two. Cato chimed in, cracking jokes at all the right places. He knew her so well, he could complete her sentences. They laughed until their midsections hurt.

Clove suddenly stood and asked Cato to unzip her dress.

"Clove…"

She laughed a great deal about that. "Please? This dress is too tight. I can't breathe."

Cato wasn't sure what to do.

"Oh, come on, Cates. And do you have an extra shirt there somewhere?" She pointed at his closet.

Cato stood, pretty nervous, and managed to get Clove a set of clothes.

Clove was still laughing. "Do you remember one time, that day with our Swordsmanship trainer, whazhisname?" And she began telling the story from beginning to end, in perfect clarity, until Cato was relaxed again.

He threw her the clothes and unzipped her dress. Clove inhaled. "Yeah, thanks. That's much better."

Cato's heart was beating much too fast. But Clove looked really casual about it. She put on the shirt over the dress, kicked of her shoes, and slipped on Cato's big training shorts under the skirt. Then she pulled off the dress. She managed to do it in less than a minute. Then she threw the dress in the trash bin. She broke the high heels of her shoes with her hands, and tossed them away, too. She padded to the bed, barefoot.

"Okay, what was I saying?" She sounded really talkative.

"Uhh-" Cato could not find the words.

"What's wrong? Why are you blushing?"

Clove laughed again. She doubled over and laughed harder. "Really, Cates? Did you really think I was sending you signals?" She seriously thought that was funny, noticed Cato. "Oh, puh-lease," she said, "I wouldn't really do that."

"Ohh-kay," Cato said, ashamed.

"I'm conservative," she said. "So please don't get any ideas."

"Sure. Who said I was?"

"No lies, bad boy."

Cato laughed. "I guess I'm conservative, too."

Clove joined him, and they were both laughing at such a ridiculous subject. "Yeah. Conservative killers."

And they guffawed even more. When the subject was finally deleted, they found other things to discuss. Nothing too cheesy, because their kind of people repelled that sort of thing. Nothing too serious, because they were approximately a week away from their final resting place. They just pretended tomorrow would never come.

No one was going to die. They were getting married someday. They would be growing old together, these conservative killers, on that same night. They would be alive in that moment forever.

The rest was history. All throughout the night they talked, laughed, and remembered. There was no one to watch them but the moon.

And us.

But for us curious spectators, it would suffice to say that they owned the night.


End file.
